The Ghost of You
by Sweet Lunacy
Summary: After Jenny's death, Gibbs walks through her empty house, remembering the woman he loved and trying to find her again. Inspired by the My Chemical Romance song of the same name. Major Jibbs, obviously. One-shot.


**A/N: I've had this idea in my head for nearly eight months, and finally got around to writing it. Inspired by My Chemical Romance's "The Ghost of You", and their inspiration for the song. Hope you enjoy.**

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It was strange. Being in her house when she wasn't there had the distinct feeling of being wrong, but Gibbs sighed as he reminded himself that it didn't matter. Jenny was gone. She would never walk through the solid oak door again, and he shook his head as he walked into her living room. Everything was in place, neatly organised, not that he had ever expected anything less from the redhead, and he ran his fingers over a few framed pictures sitting on her mantle. One of her father, a few with well-known politicians, one of Jenny and her mother, and one with her sister. None of the two of them together, though he hadn't really thought there would be.

The house was eerily quiet, and despite the photographs, there was no real indication that anyone had even lived here at all. Though Jenny had lived in this house nearly all her life, it was completely devoid of her presence. Maybe he was simply not looking hard enough. Surely, there had to be something.

He turned around, heading for the stairs and made his way carefully up them. As he walked into her bedroom, he was again struck by how immaculate she'd kept it. The bed was perfectly made, something he had always teased her about when they'd been together, her clothes hung neatly in the closet, and he opened it slowly, staring at her clothing somewhat longingly. His hand reached out to touch the silk blouse that hung in front of him, remembering the last time he'd seen her wear it, and he sighed as he walked to her bed.

On instinct, he laid his head down on her pillow, breathing in the lingering scent of her perfume, and smiled sadly. Without really thinking about it, he suddenly stood, walking into the bathroom and began searching for the bottle. He found it under her sink and as he put the expensive perfume in his pocket, he also pulled the pillowcase from the bed, folding it carefully.

Her jewelry box, a gift from her father, sat on the dresser, and he slowly turned the key, placing the lock on the smooth wood. It felt almost like he was invading her privacy by rifling through the tin box, but when he noticed the picture near the bottom, he pushed the feeling aside. It was a photo that had been taken in Paris, probably by Will Decker, and he smiled as he touched her face gently. She was smiling up at him, her head laying on his shoulder, and he wondered how in the world they had thought that no one would ever find out about them. Underneath the picture, he noticed a small silver ring, and he picked it up, recognising it instantly. It had been the one she'd worn undercover pretending to be his wife, and he also dropped that into his pocket. His own was kept in a box in his basement, and he felt that they deserved to be together.

Closing the lid and locking it back, Gibbs walked out of her room, back down the stairs, her pillowcase now in his jacket pocket, and without even realising it, he had ended up in her study. As soon as he passed the doorway, he immediately knew something was different, and it nearly took his breath away as he realised what it was.

Here, in this room, he was finding Jenny. His mind was nearly reeling from the force of her presence in the small space. He could almost hear her voice, saying his name, reaching for him, calling out to him. This room was slightly less orderly than the rest, but he supposed that made sense. Jenny had spent most of her time here, sitting behind the desk, working or looking over files well into the night.

He walked around the desk, sitting down in the chair, and he absentmindedly flipped through the papers she'd left strewn about the desk. Pausing when he came to the last piece of paper, he frowned at the sight of his name, written in Jenny's perfect handwriting.

_Dear Jethro,_

It said nothing more, and he traced the letters of his own name with his fingertips. It always seemed to end with a letter for them. The irony of this was not lost on him, and he sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. What had she wanted to say that she'd felt couldn't be done in person? They had no more secrets now, not that he was aware of, so he couldn't understand why she wouldn't have talked to him. Unless she'd been planning to tell him that she was sick. Or maybe she had wanted to explain why she was going to California.

It didn't matter now, she was gone, but still Gibbs knew it would haunt him. What had been going through her mind as she'd written those words? More than that, what had been going through her mind as she'd stood in that diner? Had she been afraid? Had she cried? Somehow, he doubted it. Jenny didn't cry. What were her final thoughts? Had she thought of him? He thought perhaps she had. After all, Mike had told him that her last stand had been to protect him. He just wished he could have been there to protect her.

She hadn't deserved this. Sure, she'd gotten obsessive over The Frog, but he'd understood that, even if he hadn't wanted to admit it. He now wondered what her motive had been the night that she'd backhandedly asked him to stay with her. She hadn't officially said the words, but he'd understood her implications perfectly. She'd wanted him to stay, for what he'd originally thought was a night of sex, but now he wasn't so sure. Maybe she'd felt that her time was running out and hadn't wanted to be alone.

In a way, he knew that was at least partially true. He'd noticed even then that she'd gotten thinner, that her eyes didn't light up when she smiled the way they had in the past, and she hadn't smiled much anyway. He'd simply written it off as stress; after all, Jenny wasn't known to take things lightly, and he wished now that he had pushed her more in the elevator. She'd brushed him off, but he knew if he'd kept trying, she would have eventually told him. Jenny had always been unable to lie to him for very long.

Except, he supposed, in the matter of her killing Svetlana. It had never occurred to him to doubt her when she'd told him that she'd carried out her task, and now he realised that this hadn't just been Jenny's mistake. She hadn't made the kill, true, but he also hadn't confirmed it. He should have. Even as he sat behind her desk, he couldn't understand why he hadn't. Now it had come back to haunt them, and it had cost Jenny her life.

He sighed, pushing back from the desk and folding the piece of paper with the beginnings of her letter, placing it in his pocket. His pockets were becoming heavy with the weight of his findings, and he made his way slowly over to the cabinet where she kept her bourbon. He poured a small measure into the crystal tumbler, and as he took a slow drink, it hit him that the last person whose lips had touched this glass had been hers. Finishing the drink, he set the glass down carefully and made his way back to the front door. He needed to drop his souvenirs off at his house before he came back that night to finish this. One way or another, this would end tonight.

Gibbs glanced around the house one last time before he shut the door, trying to ignore the tears that had formed in his eyes.

"Semper fi, Jen," he whispered.

He pulled the door shut, not bothering to lock it, and it wasn't until he got to his car that he felt the weight of her death crash over him. He had loved her, for so many years even after Paris, and now he would never have the chance to tell her. A slight wind swept through the open window of his car and as it moved his hair, he was suddenly reminded of how Jenny had run her fingers through it each time they'd kissed. He smiled at the memory, and wondered if perhaps she had caused the wind, wherever she was now. He hadn't gotten the chance to tell her just how much he'd loved her, but as he put his car in gear, he thought maybe that was okay. Perhaps she already knew.

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**A/N: MCR frontman Gerard Way told MTV the song was inspired by Alan Moore's _Watchmen_ comic, which featured a perfume ad with the tagline, "Oh, how the ghost of you clings.". I thought this was fitting, especially given the scene where Gibbs tells Hollis Mann that he recognises her perfume and she replies that she isn't wearing any, implying that it's Jenny's perfume.  
**


End file.
